Echoes Of A World Left Behind
by eksley05
Summary: Clyde's post-Worlds Apart spinoff. After everything's that's happened, Clyde now has to find a way to live. Won't make sense if you've never read Worlds Apart.
1. Too Much Too Fast: Clyde

**A/N: Did you miss me?**

**Welllllllllll... Welcome to a spinoff of Worlds Apart. Newbie readers, please read that before you read this, otherwise you may get lost along the way. This story will be written in the same style, as in every chapter a different POV. Unlike WA though, I have no plan, no carefully thought out ending. Not yet, anyway. I don't know how long this will be, or what will happen, but I hope you enjoy being with me on this journey into Clyde's post-Worlds Apart life.**

**As always, I own nothing I write about here.**

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I aimed my plastic gun at the TV in my living room, resting my finger on the trigger button of the Wii remote inside it as the game loaded, and tried to stop my hands from shaking. I was so nervous I was starting to feel queasy, and it took almost everything I had to keep my eyes focused on the TV screen in front of me. Every two minutes I had to go through a mental list of everything I had to do to seem like nothing was wrong. _Eyes on the game, check. Both hands on the gun controller, check. Legs willing to support me enough that I don't collapse out of nervousness, check ...Ish._ I had to keep shifting my weight from leg to leg every time I let my thoughts wander back to the thing I really didn't want to be thinking about, or else I really would just fall over.

I was concentrating so hard on keeping still and acting normal that somehow I forgot to pay attention to the video game I was playing; when the first wave of zombies showed up, my aim was way off, and I ended up shooting one of the innocents. Instantly, I felt my entire body tense, and thought to myself, not for the first time today, that maybe playing House of the Dead this afternoon was a really bad idea. Clearly I just didn't have the ability to concentrate today, and was that really my fault? God, we'd only had Kenny's funeral a _week_ ago, should I really be playing stupid video games? Wasn't that disrespectful in some way?

A zombie dropped down from the bridge above my video game character, latching onto him, and I started shaking my controller to get it off. Goddammit. It was something like our thirtieth time starting the game over, we were only on the second level, and I was already almost dead. I was playing like Token, and even though he was my best friend and everything, I was never afraid to tell him he sucked at killing zombies, and he knew it too. He played House of the Dead about as well as I played Tony Hawk. The point was, as egotistical as it may have sounded, I was a million times better at this game than he was. I didn't have much when it came to any kind of talent, but I could always cling to the fact that I kicked ass at a video game. For me to be playing at his skill level right now was proof of just how focused I wasn't.

I shook my gun controller harder in one last attempt to shake off the zombie, even though I was so close to death it was almost pointless. As if I needed more proof that I was way off my game today, my controller slipped out of my hands and flew across the room, landing with a thud on the carpet. Almost immediately I felt tears of frustration flood my eyes and I moved quickly over to where my controller had fallen, trying to keep them from spilling out.

"Dude." The voice from behind me made me instantly tense up. I froze where I was, on my knees on the carpet, holding the plastic gun tightly in my right hand. "You okay?"

If it had been a different time, in a different place, I might have laughed at the question. No, not at the question, actually, at the person asking me the question. Because, best friends or not, Craig Tucker had not sincerely asked me if I was all right since... Since fifth grade, back before my parents had discovered that two weeks away was a temporary miracle cure for all their marital problems. Back when they were fighting pretty much twenty-four/seven and it really looked like they were going to get a divorce. I'd been a miserable ten-year-old kid – who wouldn't have been, really? – and Craig, still a douchebag back then, but still my best friend too, had asked me how I was and meant it.

Even then, I'd known what a big deal it was for him to openly admit to caring like that – he had his whole, super-tough-guy-better-than-Cartman reputation to worry about and everything. Not that he _didn't_ care. I knew he did. Even though all of last year there'd been so many reasons to doubt that, some part of me had always known that us being best friends meant he had to care about me in some way. It just wasn't the same way he cared about Tweek.

My grip on the gun controller tightened suddenly. There it was, exactly what I didn't want to be thinking about: Craig and Tweek, and the feelings I got whenever I thought about them together. Some of it was physical – I got knots in my stomach, and I felt dizzy – but most of it was just more emotion than I could handle, and it wouldn't _stop_. I couldn't escape my own brain, no matter how much I wanted to, and once the Craig/Tweek slideshow had started in my mind, I couldn't stop it.

I'd always been a little uncomfortable being around the two of them when they were being all couple-y, but I hadn't ever questioned it, it was just a fact. There hadn't been any reason for me to ever look any deeper than the surface for an explanation. Skies were always blue, water was always wet, mushrooms would always be a fungus, and Craig and Tweek together always made me feel weird and awkward. So I avoided looking at them when I was around them. That was all there was to it.

Except that _wasn't_ all there was to it. And even now, now that I knew that and knew that I had to deal with it, I just didn't want to. I wasn't like any of the rest of them , I couldn't adapt to things as easily as they could. I couldn't just... I couldn't find out something like this about myself and be okay and ready to move on and be a different kind of person in just a few days. It may have worked for the rest of them, but I just couldn't do it. I'd spent my whole life believing I was one person, _knowing_ who I was and happy enough about it, and then things got flipped upside-down and turned backwards and I wasn`t who I thought I was anymore, and so much of my life had changed. I hated change, I always had, especially huge changes, and everything that had changed for me in the last week was huge.

"Yeah," I finally managed to mumble, slowly getting back to my feet. I lifted my free hand up to push some hair out of my eyes as I returned to my original spot in my living room, staring at the carpet the entire time. It was a blatant lie, and I knew it. I wasn't okay, not even close, but there was really no reason that I should be. My horribly timed discovery of feelings I'd never wanted to learn about aside, there was still everything else that had happened to me – to all of us. To one of us in particular. I looked up, at one of the walls of my living room, and remembered how a week earlier – though it felt so much longer than that – Token had been scrubbing at what he thought was pizza sauce.

There was no trace of red on the wall now, though – my parents must have found a way to get rid of the blood. I didn't know how; I'd been avoiding talking to them, to pretty much everyone, really. Token and I had gone to the McCormick's to tell them about Kenny dying, but after that, I'd mostly been staying in my room. There was too much I had to think about, and I couldn't – didn't want to – talk to anybody about anything. Because to explain to them how I was feeling would mean I had to explain _everything_ – all of my feelings were connected, and to talk about Kenny meant that I would sooner or later have to talk about Craig. I wasn't ready for that, and I wasn't sure I ever would be.

I heard Craig sigh and looked up in time to see him toss his Wii gun on the couch beside him, not even bothering to turn off the game. "Bullshit," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know why you still try to lie. You're hopeless at it." The words came out harshly, but I knew him well enough to know he didn't mean it that way, that he was actually genuinely interested in a serious conversation about my feelings. And maybe if things were different I would be able to appreciate that fact more than I did right now, but as it was, I was already so emotionally messed up I could barely look at my best friend; this new concerned-for-my-well-being Craig Tucker definitely wasn't helping. He wasn't supposed to care about me, he was supposed to just be his sarcastic self and treat me the same way he always had and save his abnormal niceness for Tweek, because Tweek had already adjusted to it over the years and it wasn't freakishly weird for him. Not like it was for me.

Not knowing what else to do, I shrugged, looking down at the Wii controller in my hand. I suddenly felt twelve different kinds of awkward, just standing there in my living room. I wanted to sit down, but I'd just gotten up off the floor and the only couch was over by where Craig was standing, all the way across the room. Number one, I didn't know if I would be able to move steadily enough to actually make it over there, and number two...it was right near Craig. God, this was so much harder than I'd thought it would be. I should've just told him I was busy when he showed up on my doorstep this morning, I should've told him my parents had told me I couldn't have anyone over... I should've done _something_ to avoid being alone with him. Or maybe I just never should've answered the door in the first place.

But my parents were both gone, and I'd just come downstairs from my room to get a sandwich, and then the doorbell rang... And I'd been reading Kenny's letter to me for the millionth time, and I'd thought that maybe it was Token at my door, and maybe Kenny was right and I should talk to him, at least a little bit about how I was feeling. I mean, even if it was all really general and vague, it still might have helped. I didn't have to talk to him about Craig, not yet – if ever. I could talk about everything _but_ him, at least then I'd be talking and not keeping _everything_ inside and having a horrible stomachache all the time.

So I'd left my sandwich in the kitchen and gone to the door, but when I swung it open Craig was standing there, wearing his blue hat with his longish black hair sticking out from underneath it, his hands in the pockets of his ICP hoodie, looking exactly the same as he always did, except Tweek wasn't anywhere near him.

And it was Tweek not being there that really threw me off. I honestly couldn't remember the last time before today that I'd seen Craig without Tweek around. A week ago I would have killed to have time with just Craig; now I wanted to do anything but be around only him. At least if it had been the two of them, and I'd let them in to hang out, then maybe they would've been too distracted by each other – as usual - to notice that I was acting any differently. If they'd both been here, I probably would have called Token and asked him to come over too so I at least could hang out with him while Craig and Tweek were...busy. Or maybe it would have been easier to for me to _not_ let them in if they came over together, maybe seeing them beside each other would jump start my brain into working right again. I would remember that they were Craig Tucker and Tweek Tweak, inseparable forever no matter what feelings I may or may not have, and I needed to get over my stupid hopeless _crush_ on my best friend.

But it hadn't been both of them, it had just been Craig, and I'd been so caught off guard by that, that when he'd looked past me into my living room and said, "Zombies?" all I'd been able to do was stutter, "Um... 'Kay." And all I'd been trying to do for the last hour was pretend that nothing was wrong or different and that I was okay.

But he was right, and I knew that – I was a horrible liar, and Craig's bullshit radar was off the charts accurate. Even if there was a chance that I could fool Token, my parents, anyone else, I couldn't fool Craig. But I couldn't tell him what was wrong. I _couldn't_. It would screw everything up, and things would get so awkward between us if he knew what I was suddenly feeling about him. God, and _Tweek_... My stomach twisted with guilt as I imagined how he would feel. Tweek, as paranoid as he was, had really good something-isn't-right-here intuition. He would instantly know something was different, and he would get scared, and that would make things even more complicated. With everything that those two had gone through in less than two years, I didn't think that Craig would be able to keep the truth from him. And if Tweek found out...then he would probably end up hating me, or at the very least not wanting to be around me very much. The logical train of thought there was that if Tweek didn't want to be around me, chances were I'd lose Craig too.

"Hey." When I didn't answer, Craig repeated, "_Hey_." His voice was really close to my ear, and when I looked up I was staring right at the zipper of Craig's hoodie, less than a foot away from me. "Dude, seriously. You need to talk?"

I shook my head; tears flooded my eyes and I tried desperately to keep some kind of control over myself. "I'm sorry," I managed to say, avoiding looking at Craig's face. This was too hard for me. I didn't know how to act anymore. Being honest right now would make me lose my best friend, but keeping things inside was making me sick. For the first time in a week, I actually wanted to talk about everything that had happened, but I didn't want to talk about things to Craig.

I wanted to talk to one of two people who'd proven to me that they wouldn't immediately judge me for anything I was feeling, but they were two people I was never going to see again. At least, not until I died – again. The kind of death that nobody could bring me back from. But even then, depending on where I wound up after that, I'd only get to see one of the two of them, and it made me feel awful but I wasn't sure which one I wanted to see and talk to more.

My grip tightened on the gun controller as I remembered Taco Loco. That place was the only thing I missed about being dead. Mitch – the owner, Mitch Hedberg, Craig`s favourite comedian, of all people – hadn't known me from a hole in the ground, which had made it so much easier to talk to him without worrying. He listened, he really listened to me, when I was crying on his counter and speaking in half-English, half gibberish. His comments didn't have one shred of bias in them because he wasn't a part of my life, he didn`t know the people I knew. He was able to be more honest with me than I was sure any of my friends could have been.

"Fuck, man, don't be sorry." Craig paused, and I saw him glance down at his wrist, at his watch. When he spoke again there was something different in his voice, but I couldn't decipher what it was. "I have to go to work. You... You can talk to me if you need a. Someone. Okay?"

"Okay," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn't even register Craig walking away, or my front door opening and then closing again. I sunk down onto the living room floor and curled into a ball. There was too much in my head, and I couldn't deal with it all, I needed some way to get it out, but who was there for me to talk to?

The only friend I had who came close to being like Mitch was Kenny - not that anybody else was incapable of caring. I mean, Butters cared about everything and everyone, and technically he already knew about how I felt – I hadn't meant to at the time, he'd just been right there when I'd finally come to terms with exactly what I was feeling and exactly what that mean, and I'd kind of had a verbal heart attack at him and probably scared him to death.

But he and I weren't close, and I knew myself, I knew that I couldn't talk to him again about things now and not feel awkwardly stupid. That, and...Butters, for whatever reason, was in love with Cartman, and after dying and being split up the way they had been, it didn't seem like the time for me to want to come talk to him about my stupid life and its messed up problems. Kenny, though... He was the other person I wanted to talk to and couldn't. He was – different, to talk to about things. He could pick up on someone's whole issue by only hearing two words. It would be easier to talk to him because he would understand completely without needing me to say more than a sentence or two. And since I could hardly even think about how I felt about Craig without crying – I sniffled, my vision blurring as a few tears dripped from my eyes onto the Wii controller that was still in my hand.

The difference between Kenny and Mitch was that Kenny would be _too_ concerned about how I was feeling and he would try to make things better for me. That was just the kind of person he was, he'd proven that by sacrificing himself. I wasn't ungrateful about that aspect of Kenny – there had been so many times in my life that he'd been the best person in the world to talk to – but there were times when I just wanted to talk and have someone listen, like Mitch had up in Heaven just before Kenny had brought us back. I just couldn't tell if this was one of those times, or if I really needed Kenny to talk to. Especially since in the letter he'd written me, he'd made it perfectly clear that he'd known, or at least had an idea of, my newfound Craig issue. Maybe, in his Kenny-way, he could've said something, given me some advice, that would make all of this easier for me. Maybe he would've known what to do.

Or maybe he had. Part of his letter to me echoed in my mind: _'__All I can say is that when you're ready, really ready to trust someone enough to talk to them about it, talk to Token… He'll understand, I know he will, and I know he'll be there for you, no matter what…" _It was simple, and something I'd considered, but never gotten up the nerve to do. Which was stupid, really; this was Token, who'd I'd always been so close with that I considered him more of a sibling than a friend. I shouldn't be afraid to talk to him about anything. Token was a lot of things, but he'd never, in all the years I'd known him, been a bad friend to me. Maybe it was time I trusted him with more than just my superficial problems.


	2. Waiting: Token

**A/N: Woo, chapter twooooo. I don't know if I really have much to say about this chapter...not because it's bad or anything, probably just because I'm tired. Haha. Anywayyyyyy, enjoyyyy, and I'll get the third one written and up as soon as I caaaaaaan.  
Thank youuuu for reviewing tooo: soquedhozi, StrangeBlueDoggy, and my tweekers!**

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I turned off the TV with a sigh, and leaned back on my living room couch. There was nothing on in the middle of the day on a Wednesday except soap operas and game shows, neither one of them programming I had any interest in – most of were probably repeats anyway. I pulled my legs up so I was sitting cross-legged on the couch, and grabbed one of my dad's Time magazines from the table beside me. I'd never really realized how little time I spent in my house until we got back from New York. After everything, when all I did was spend time in my house. Before, I'd be at Clyde's, or the video store while he was working – well, in theory while he was working. Most of Clyde's shifts ended up with him and I sitting behind the counter and watching movies on the store's TV, and eating popcorn off the shelf that we didn't pay for. It wasn't like anybody would've cared if they'd caught us, not that anyone really came into the store anyway.

Nobody rented movies in South Park anymore; everyone had Netflix or Tivo or enough money to just buy stuff. By all logic, the video store should've gone bankrupt by now, but the owner, Mr. Cooper, lived down where I'd used to live, in one of those ridiculously pretentious, expensive mansions. The guy had more money than _my _parents. He kept the store going for some weird tax benefit, or something, I never had been too clear on that. He and my parents used to talk all the time, and I'd heard him explain it to my dad once. Honestly, I hadn't really been listening; I only cared enough to worry about Clyde possibly losing his job. That would mean that we would lose out on a place to hang out at when we couldn't be at either of our houses. But Mr. Cooper had said something about how as long as he had at least one employee he could get some special benefit for being the owner or...something. Something like that. It was nothing that made sense to me, but as long as it meant there was still free popcorn and movies for me and my best friend to watch, I was happy.

If I wasn't hanging out with Clyde, every so often I'd wander down to Harbucks, where I'd usually find Craig and Tweek, and a ton of free drinks. And if none of the three of them were working – a rare occurrence, especially recently with everyone trying to scrounge up money for New York, but it did happen – we'd find somewhere to hang out, the four of us. Usually it was at Clyde's house, or mine – we'd all figured out a long time ago that Clyde's house had the best video game and movie collections, but mine had the best food, so where we ended up all depended on whether we were more hungry, or needing to shoot things in the face.

That was pretty much our lives, and I'd been so looking forward to the day after our trip ended – _would_ _have _ended if we'd made it for the whole thing – because I knew that Clyde, Craig, and Tweek had all asked for an extra day off just so we could have one of those days. Sure, we would've had time to all hang out in New York, but that was a huge city, and so different from South Park, so..._exotic_, I guess, is a good word for it. We – I, at least – just wanted things to get back to normal after the year of hardly seeing anyone. Except that that wasn't at all how things had ended up happening.

I hadn't spoken to Clyde much since we'd gotten back to South Park and told Kenny's parents what had happened to their son. Even then, he'd barely said two words to me the entire time. And since our midnight memorial service for Kenny last week, I hadn't heard from him at all. Not even on either one of our eighteenth birthdays, his two days before Kenny's actual funeral, and mine one day after.

I knew Clyde, I knew him probably better than he knew himself. This was killing him; he couldn't handle any of it. He'd never been able to deal with anything upsetting, at least not well. His parents' fighting when we were kids had been so awful for him. He always used to call me from the basement, where he would go sit by his house's unnaturally loud furnace, to try to get away from the noise of his parents' yelling, and I always felt like a horrible best friend because I never knew the right thing to say to make him feel any kind of better. I still felt like a horrible best friend now, for the exact same reason.

Everything with the crash, and Kenny, was bad enough. I didn't know much about Clyde's time up in Heaven, and I didn't want to ask. Clyde would tell me when he was ready to tell me; that was just the way he operated. And Kenny... There was so much to the Kenny part of things. The McCormicks not seeming to care one little bit about his death had really bothered Clyde, I could tell, even though he hadn't said anything. It would bother any normal person with a heart, obviously, but Clyde had, I thought, a bigger heart than most people, which meant that he felt emotions at least twice as strongly as others. Kenny's family hadn't impressed me either, I mean for Christ's sake, we all knew Kenny dying hadn't meant shit for forever, but you would _think_... You would think that the two of us, friends of Kenny's since preschool, taking one of his deaths so seriously now would mean at least _something_.

Nobody seemed to understand that this wasn't a normal thing, that this was different. It was so frustrating knowing that nobody was going to take any of us seriously about it. But it wasn't just the lack of concern on Kenny's parents' part that was hurting my best friend. That blond and him had been such good friends, they'd ended up being closer than I'd ever thought they would've been. They had different tastes in a lot of things than me – movies in particular – which was why I never hung out with the two of them. But I didn't have to hang out with them to know that if for whatever reason, our group – me, Clyde, Craig, and Tweek – ever split up, with Kenny around Clyde wouldn't have had to look too far for a best friend.

And then there was Craig, and whatever it was Clyde felt about or for him. God, I didn't blame him for hiding out from the rest of world, not when he had that on top of everything else to deal with. If I were him, I would be ignoring everyone else too. I still wished he would at least text me or something, though. I was really worried about him. _Especially _when it came to Craig – mostly because of Kenny's letter to me, telling me to take care of Clyde because he was going to need me. Obviously that meant that something had happened after the crash, before Kenny had called in his favors and gotten us all back. He had to have seen _something_ that indicated that Clyde felt more than friendship for Craig, and that those feelings weren't going to stay hidden in the very bottom of his subconscious for much longer.

I felt like the biggest douchebag in the world for having teased him about having a crush on Craig for so long. Somewhere in my brain I knew that Clyde's misery lately and his suddenly having to deal with his feelings had almost nothing to do with me. My brown-haired, brown-eyed, slightly-shorter-than-me-but-not-by-much best friend lived in denial about most things in his life, but he wasn't stupid. He would have figured out on his own whether or not he legitimately felt something for Craig, but that didn't stop the rest of me for just feeling like an asshole and a terrible friend for not even stopping to think about what would happen if what I teased him about was actually true.

I put down the magazine I'd been half-looking though and glanced down at my watch. It was almost three; my parents wouldn't be back for a couple of hours yet. I sighed, and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, setting it on the arm of the couch beside me once I checked that I had no missed alerts. There was absolutely nothing to do in my house by myself. There was a reason I wasn't usually home alone – it was so boring, all I really did when I was here by myself was eat, read, and sleep. I didn't feel like doing any of those things. The only thing I read these days was Kenny's letter to me, and that was already getting so worn out that I was afraid of the paper falling apart if I unfolded and folded it again many more times. For the thousandth time today I debated calling Clyde again, but then I had to remind myself for the thousandth time that I couldn't do anything to help him and I had to give him time. So I'd just sit. And do nothing.

Every once in a while, Craig would send me a text message, but that didn't happen very often. I assumed he was being more attentive than usual to Tweek, who probably needed it. Tweek was, even though I hated thinking it that way, why Kenny had had to sacrifice himself. Not that I blamed Tweek for doing what he did to be with Craig, not that I disliked him for it or anything like that. I could see where he was coming from, where being without Craig was hurting him more than anything else, and he couldn't have known what Kenny was planning or what he would've had to do. But Tweek was Tweek, and chances were he was blaming himself and making himself sick thinking that this was all his fault, and he would need Craig to be his voice of reason.

I hadn't heard from anyone else either – Butters, Cartman, Stan, Kyle, Christophe... One of Craig's text messages a few days ago had informed me that Christophe was suddenly MIA again and he hadn't said anything to anyone, but for all anyone knew he could just be off on one of his mercenary missions. I wondered how Kyle was dealing with the lack of Christophe, and what was going on there. At our memorial service, he hadn't been wearing the ring, and he and Stan had looked closer than usual. And Christophe had seemed, if it was possible, way more distant than usual. Or at least, more distant than I'd become used to. He'd gone back to being the way he'd used to be, way back when he'd first shown up, before the ten of us had gotten so close. I wondered what had happened, because obviously something had, to give Christophe back all that coldness and anger. Whatever the exact reason was, all I knew was that it definitely had _something _to do with Stan. Maybe I'd ask one of them, Kyle or Stan, about it sometime. Once I was sure that Clyde was okay. My best friend was the one I was concerned about right now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my phone glow a split-second before I heard it vibrate. I grabbed it and flipped it open so fast I almost threw it across the room. Just one vibration meant a text message, and I was so hoping to see Clyde's number that I actually was disappointed when it was another sigh – what felt like my eight millionth sigh today – I clicked on his message.

_Is Clyde pissed at me?_

I blinked down at my phone, not sure how to answer that – not sure why Craig was even asking me that question. In the few text message conversations we'd had in the last month, I'd told him about Clyde's reclusiveness, so he should know that Clyde not talking to him wasn't anything personal. At least, not as far as he knew – it was partly personal, but Craig obviously had no idea what Clyde was feeling. But still, he shouldn't be thinking that it had anything to do with anger. Granted he hadn't been around much in the last year, but he knew Clyde almost as well as I did. He should know that our brunet's tendency to hide from what hurt him would be the reason none of us had heard from him in so long, not anything else.

I stared at the tiny screen of my phone for another few seconds, before typing a message back. _Not as far as I know. Why? _A couple of minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

_Dunno. He was...weird when I was at his place just now._

What? Craig had been over at Clyde's? I tried to ignore the small twinge of jealousy I felt when I read that. So what if Craig had been at Clyde's house? That didn't mean anything bad about Clyde's and my friendship. They'd been best friends once, yeah, okay, but that was way before Craig and Tweek were ever a thing. I mean, the four of us had always been a group of friends, and Craig had always been more or less the 'leader' of us, but back then instead of Tweek being his second-in-command it was Clyde. Eventually, somehow, it ended up that Craig was hanging out more with Tweek than with Clyde, and so the brunet and I just naturally started hanging out together by ourselves when our other ones were busy with each other. But it wasn't a big deal – Clyde had told me once, just after Craig and Tweek had started dating, that it hadn't seemed like he was being abandoned, that it was more like Tweek had more of a reason to need Craig right then. It was the most profound thing I'd ever heard him say, and it was one of the ways I could tell that Clyde's feelings for Craig were really recent; if that whole situation happened now, Clyde would feel even worse than abandoned.

I doubted that Clyde and Craig had ever had conversations like the ones we had. Craig wasn't much of a talker, at least not to anybody but Tweek. Clyde and I could talk forever about the weirdest stuff, and none of it seemed weird to us at the time. We'd had conversations about everything from Kyle's mom's hair to how much easier ants' lives would be if they could drive. We had nothing close to the kind of friendship that Craig and he had had, but that wasn't in any way a bad thing. Sometimes I really felt like our friendship was better than theirs, just because it seemed less one-sided. Craig...had a tendency to take over relationships, I'd noticed – any kind of relationship, friendship or otherwise. Not a problem for Tweek, who kind of needed someone like that to protect him from the world, but Clyde wasn't like that. He and I...complimented each other better, I guess you could say.

So really, jealousy right now really didn't make much sense. It wasn't like Clyde had invited Craig over before he'd talked to me or anything. That wasn't likely, anyway. I really didn't think that Clyde would have the easiest time in the world talking to Craig lately. Not even about anything serious, just at all. If there was anybody that Clyde would probably want to be avoiding the most right now, it was Craig. Still... I reread Craig's text message again. If he'd been at Clyde's house, I still wanted to know why – and what exactly he meant by saying Clyde had been acting 'weird'.

_I really don't know, dude, I haven't talked to him since last week. Weird how? _I hit the send button on my phone, flipped it shut, and stood up, intending to go into my kitchen to grab a can of Coke. I was halfway there when my house phone rang. I hesitated, glancing behind me at where our cordless phone was sitting on the coffee table, before deciding to just let the machine get it. I walked into my kitchen, swung open the door of my fridge, took a Coke off the bottom shelf, and went back into my living room in time to hear, "...I, just, um, wanted to... If you're not busy today, I—"

I tossed my unopened drink onto the couch and grabbed the phone, hitting the talk button and pressing it to my ear. "Clyde?"

"Oh." My best friend's miserable voice echoed over the phone line. "You are home."

"Yeah, I'm here, what's up?" I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder and sat down cross-legged in the same spot I'd been in all day. My cell phone vibrated in my hand and I flipped it open to a new text message.

_Obviously upset but he won't talk to me. I think he's pissed because of last year & me not seeing you guys much. _

God, Craig could be so fucking oblivious sometimes. It was kind of good, in a way, this time, because it meant he wouldn't be able to pick up on the real reason for Clyde's, as he called it, 'weirdness'. But seriously, did he not get that Clyde had a lot to be upset about? I rolled my eyes and typed a two word message back: _Um, Kenny?_

On the other end of the phone, Clyde sniffled, and I knew he was crying. Or at the very least, he had been. When he spoke again, his voice cracked. "I think... I need to –" He cut himself off and I just heard him breathing for a few seconds. My phone vibrated again and I looked down.

_No shit._

"Are you – I mean," I stopped myself from asking the stupid question as I typed on my cell phone. "Do you need anything?"

_I'm just saying. He and Kenny were really close. _

"I..." Another loud sniffle, and then a couple of really soft whimpers. I sat on my couch, awkwardly listening as Clyde cried, knowing there was nothing I could do but wait until he could talk again. I wanted so much to tell him that I knew about the Craig thing, but I couldn't – it wouldn't help things. In fact, it would probably make things worse, because if I had figured it out, what was stopping Craig from having figured it out too? I knew that would be Clyde's thought process, and on top of everything else that was killing him inside, he didn't need to have the possibility of Craig knowing something like that about him weighing on his mind too.

_I think it's something else. He wouldn't even look at me._ Craig's next text message was weird, and it took me a minute to understand why. He sounded legitimately really concerned, which wasn't something that happened with Craig often. It wasn't that he didn't care about anyone or anything – though there wasn't much that he gave a shit about, really. It was more that he very, very rarely _showed_ that he cared. If you were his friend, you were supposed to understand that he wouldn't be your friend if he didn't care, no matter how he treated you, he was just Craig and that was his way. As long as he called you a friend, you mattered.

But now, with Clyde...he actually seemed like it bothered him that Clyde had been distant. And that was weird. I had no idea how to answer his text message; not that it mattered, because a second later I got another one, just as Clyde mumbled, "Token?"

"I'm here," I said, clicking on the new message.

_Can you come to Harbucks later? _Translation: Craig had more to say than he could fit into a text message conversation.

"Could you – could you come over?" Clyde's voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear him through the phone. "I think – I need someone to talk to."

"Of course," I answered immediately, in the middle of typing a response to Craig. "I'm leaving right now, I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?" My heart was racing, I was so relieved that Clyde was finally ready to talk about things. It would help him, I knew it would, and I would finally be able to feel like I was actually _doing_ something, after being so helpless during the whole entire situation – first I'd been stuck in a hospital bed while my best friend had been on a whole other plane of existence, then I'd had to accept the fact that Kenny was letting himself die for real so the rest of us could live and I couldn't stop him, and then I'd had to let Clyde be alone for days - though it felt more like weeks... This was actually finally something I could _do, _take care of my best friend, just like Kenny had said.

"Okay," Clyde whispered. "Thank you. Bye, Token." He disconnected, and I hung up my phone, sending my reply to Craig at the same time. _Yeah. What time? You closing? _I picked my hoodie up off the floor where it had been lying for days, pulled my keys out of the pocket, and headed for my front door.

_Yeah. Around nine?_

_Okay. See you then._

I slipped on my shoes and opened my front door, blinking at the bright sunlight. It didn't take me long to get to Clyde's, not if I took the shortcuts. I'd be there in fifteen minutes, probably less, which gave me at least five hours with him before I'd have to leave for Harbucks.


	3. How Long Has It Been: Craig

**A/N: Heeeeey. Ughhhh, I know, I know, this story sucks and I haven't updated in ever, and oh yeah, this story sucks. (I'm having a slight confidence fail, I'm so sorry.)  
Buuut, okay, this is Craig. And the good thing about this chapter is that in writing it I have finally thought of where I want this story to go, so that's a plus. I just need opinions on something. After reading this, I just want to know what you guys think - should I give Tweek his own chapters too, or no?  
Thank you to those of you who reviewed last chapter forever ago - tweekers and Tweek Tweekers.**

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"What's the difference between a cappuccino and a frappuccino?"

I sighed, rolling my eyes at the same time, and leaned against the back counter. I'd been working at Harbucks for a long time now, but I was always still surprised by how fucking stupid some people really were. In all honesty, the intelligence levels of people in this town really shouldn't shock me, but every so often someone would be _so _stupid that I just had to stop and think, _"Really?"_ This was definitely one of those times.

Before I answered the skinny blonde bitch who was looking at me like her question was all kinds of legit and not retarded, I turned and looked up at the giant menu boards hanging on the wall. Part of me was seriously hoping I wouldn't actually have to answer her, that maybe she'd follow my lead and figure out for herself that _frapp_uccinos were listed under _cold_ beverage, and _capp_uccinos listed under _hot_.

But, again, I gave a human being too much credit. After at least forty-five seconds of silence, I heard from behind me, "Um, hello?"

I didn't even bother turning around. I had no patience for idiots like her tonight. "Frappuccino's cold," was all I said as I fished my phone out of the pocket of my red Harbucks apron. No new text messages, but it was almost nine. Token should be here soon.

"Like a Slurpee?" Skinny Blonde Bitch asked. "What kinds do you have?"

I pointed up at the menu as my phone vibrated. Glancing down, I saw one new text message from Tweek, and couldn't help smiling when I read it. _I'm so sorry if I'm not awake when you get home but I'm so tired but I'll try to wait up for you._

_Go to sleep, Tweeker, you're sick, you need it._ I typed back, hitting the send button just as SBB spoke again.

"I want a vanilla bean one but can you put espresso in it?"

"'Spresso's extra," I said, moving the half step forward to ring her through on my till.

"Oh. Really?" She scrunched up her nose and then smiled at me in what I could only assume was meant to be attractive, except it really wasn't. Bitch looked like Skeletor with an eating disorder; I wouldn't touch her even if I did swing that way.

"Yep," I replied, tapping on my register with my right hand. "Still want it?"

SBB rolled her eyes at me now, obviously disappointed in my lack of response to her flirtation. She had the kind of smug pseudo-self-confidence that only those who had been told they were beautiful, and didn't actually believe it themselves, could have. There was a difference between this kind of confidence and the real kind. SBB was trying way too hard. I gave her another once-over, from her bleached hair to her Abercrombie hoodie to her pre-ripped _they're-not-old-they're-fashionable_ jeans.

She was probably the secret whore of some rich older boyfriend with a receding hairline, a wife, and two kids, who just needed a blow job every couple of weeks so he would tell her all the lies she wanted to hear.

I stopped tapping and blinked. That had been an exceptionally harsh thought, even for me, on a day like today where the only customers I'd had all day had been morons. As much as the entire human race pissed me off, I'd never thought something that awful about a person before. Minus Cartman, but he wasn't what I would consider a person. I blinked again, and looked down at the screen of my register. Maybe this girl wasn't as dumb as I was making her out to be, maybe my day was getting to me and I was just tired. I was just about to offer to not charge her for the espresso when all of a sudden, long bleached blonde hair blocked my view of the monitor screen and I looked up to see SBB's face two inches from my own.

"Are you _sure_ I have to pay for it?" She whispered the words at me, and I cringed in disgust. Never mind – this bitch could fuck right off.

"Yes." I said, my voice flat. "Espresso costs extra. No exceptions."

SBB glared at me – like I was supposed to be afraid of somebody like her – and straightened up, putting a hand on one anorexic hip. I could just imagine her meeting her Barbie clone friends later and bitching about how her barista at Harbucks was a horrible asshole who charged her an extra thirty-seven cents for a shot of espresso in her cappuccino. Or was it frappuccino?

"_Fiiiiiine_," she sighed, drawing the word out so it was eighteen syllables, digging in her purse.

"Five ten." I stood there for thirty seconds while she tried to scrounge up money, but when it became clear that her purse could house a family of twelve, I shuffled across the floor to the cold bar, and started making her frappuccino. Ugh, why had I let Josh go home early? I was really wishing I'd gotten him to stay just so that he could've dealt with SBB and I could've gone out for a smoke to try to chill the fuck out before Token got down here. Skinny Blonde Bitch and her retard questions and belief that her looks could get her whatever she wanted was exactly why I'd never wanted a career in anything that required me to deal with the public. People pissed me the fuck off.

I finished her frappuccino, brought it over to her, and still had to wait another two minutes before she found a way to pay for it. As she was handing me a five dollar bill and a quarter, I heard the door open and looked up to see Token walking inside. He waved, I nodded at him, and gave SBB her fifteen cents and pushed her drink across the counter to her.

"Um, do you—"

"Right over there." I cut her off before she could complain that I hadn't given her a straw. Without another word, or even – surprisingly – an eye roll, she slung her bag over her shoulder, picked up her drink, and walked over to the condiment stand. I didn't relax until she was out the door, and then, after flipping off the area where she had been standing for the last fifteen minutes, I leaned over the counter, resting my head in my hands. "Fuck," I said.

"Long day?"

I lifted my head and nodded at Token, who had taken a seat on one of the comfy chairs. "Longest fucking day of my life."

"It's been busy?"

I shook my head, pushing myself up off the counter, and gestured to my nearly empty cafe – the only people in it were Token and me. "No," I said, walking out from behind the counter and sitting down in the chair across from my friend. "It's been stupid."

"Yeah, she seemed..." Token paused, obviously having a hard time finding a diplomatic way to say what he wanted to say. I had no problems with that kind of thing.

"Like an anorexic retard bitch." My tone was sharper than I'd intended for it to be, and I surprised both myself and Token, who jumped slightly at my words. He tilted his head and looked at me. I took my lighter out of my pocket and started flipping it open and shut. I'd quit smoking for Tweek – while somehow completely avoiding tobacco withdrawal – but I still carried a lighter with me everywhere. It gave me something to do with my hands that wasn't flipping people off.

"Is everything okay?" Token's question was hesitant, like he was worried I was going to snap at him. I really didn't blame him, in most other situations – all other situations, really – I would have. I had never been good at any of the whole talking about how I _feel_ shit. I preferred to deal with my problems on my own, because by definition, _my_ problems dealt with _my_ life and that was nobody's business but my own. And Tweek's, these days, but Tweek was a special case, and everyone knew that.

The point was, with the only exception of Tweek, I didn't go to any of my friends with any of my issues, and they didn't come to me with theirs. That was the way it had been our entire lives, and the ones who really mattered – Tweek, Clyde, and Token – knew that that didn't mean I was any less of their friend. It just meant that I was – and am – not good with talking about emotional shit. There was only one other time that people had seen me vulnerable and gotten me to talk, but even then I hadn't said much – it was Token who had figured out what my problem was and said it out loud. Clyde had just cared enough to be there.

That had been almost more than a year ago, and it was the only time in my entire existence that something like that had happened. I'd gone back to dealing with my big problems on my own, and nobody ever knew when there was something wrong with my life. But now there was a problem that I couldn't handle on my own. There were too many different aspects to this problem, and I couldn't keep it all inside, it was driving me crazy. But I couldn't bring myself to talk to Tweek about it, either – not when he was already making himself physically sick with guilt. Clyde was, for some reason, avoiding me, and if he was pissed at me I wouldn't be able to blame him, because I'd treated him horribly in the last year. Token was the only person left that I trusted enough to be semi-comfortable talking to about all this.

That was why I'd asked him to come here tonight, but now that he was sitting across from me, I didn't know how to start talking. My first instinct was to flip him off and respond to his question with, "I'm fine." Old habits die hard, after all. I fought to resist the impulse and said instead, simply, "No."

"Obviously," Token said with a hint of a smile."You look awful, Craig. I wouldn't expect things to be okay."

"Then why'd you ask?" I mumbled, sinking deeper into the cushiony chair.

Token shrugged. "Habit, I guess." Then, shaking his head, he added quietly, "It's a stupid question."

We were both silent for a few minutes. I looked up, watching the ceiling fan as it spun in slow, lazy circles. I liked my job when it was quiet like this, when there were no customers. Usually all my shifts at Harbucks were shifts where Tweek was working with me. It had been weird not having him here for this whole last week. It was the first time in what felt like close to forever that I hadn't been around him for that much time. Even dying hadn't kept us apart for long...

"Token—" I immediately paused, with my eyes still on the fan, and tried to figure out how the fuck to say what I wanted to say to him. He didn't say anything, but I could feel him watching me and I knew he was listening. "I didn't – mean to be an asshole." He stayed silent, and I immediately felt the need to fill the silence with something else so it didn't end up being ridiculously awkward. "Things just got. You know."

"Tweek," was all Token said in response. I glanced at him and he shook his head a little bit. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, Craig. I understand."

He hadn't emphasized any one of his words differently than the others, I knew that, but to me it felt like he'd said that I didn't have to explain myself to _him_. Meaning that there was someone else I had to explain myself to. Meaning Clyde. Meaning the person who'd been my best friend for so long who I'd treated like shit – not on purpose, but the fact remained that I had – when I'd known he was a highly sensitive human being. If I were him I would have given up on trying to keep our friendship going a long time ago.

"Clyde doesn't." I sighed, and then leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands. "You should've seen him when he opened his front door and saw me on his doorstep." I paused, remembering the look on Clyde's face. "I don't even know why he let me in. He obviously didn't want me to be there."

Token opened his mouth, hesitating for a second before saying, "Well...maybe he's just still adjusting. You know. With Kenny and everything... They'd gotten to be really close friends."

I shook my head, running a hand through my hair. It was getting way too long, but I didn't feel like getting it cut. I didn't give a fuck what I looked like anyway. I figured when it got long enough for customers to complain I'd just violate dress code and wear my hat. "No, this was different. I know what upset, miserable Clyde is like. He cries and hides himself away, but he'll pour his fucking heart out if someone just cares enough to show up to see if he's all right. He barely said two words to me the entire time I was at his house. He didn't look at me, and he was playing House Of The Dead like...well, like you. No offense," I added with a shrug.

"None taken." Token shrugged right back at me.

"Point is, this was a Clyde I don't know. And it fucking bothers me that he's turned into someone I don't recognize, and I don't know if I'm going to be able to do anything to fix the fact that I treated him like I didn't give a fuck." I stopped mid-rant to take a deep breath, and then continued, "If he won't talk to me, I can't exactly change anything. I want my best friend Clyde back."

It had been a long, long time since I'd said anything like that, since I'd admitted to anything that would in any way make me seem any kind of vulnerable. I could tell that I surprised Token – his eyes went wide for half a second and he sat a little bit forward in his chair. In response, I threw myself backwards in mine and let my arms dangle over the sides, looking up at the ceiling again.

"Just...fuck," I said to the ceiling tiles. "You know?" I closed my eyes. I had never felt more grateful that tonight was an abnormally slow night, and that in half an hour I could close this bitch and get the fuck out of here. Not to mention the fact that tomorrow was my day off. Not for the first time I wondered what had compelled me to go back to work as soon as we got back last week, instead of taking advantage of the entire month off I _would_ have had had everything gone the way it was supposed to.

"Clyde isn't mad at you."

I opened my eyes and watched Token take out his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans and flip it open. Looking down at it, he added, "I saw him before I came here. He's not doing well but he isn't pissed at you or anything."

"Sure seemed like it," I mumbled, trying to ignore the fact that Clyde felt more comfortable talking to Token about shit than me. It wasn't like it didn't make perfect sense – I mean, Token was a better best friend to Clyde than I'd ever been. And Clyde and I hadn't been that kind of close in years. It just sucked, under the circumstances.

"I just... I don't think he's used to you being the kind of person who would care enough to talk to him and to want him to talk to you about anything." Token spoke slowly, like his words were all carefully thought out."You're seeing a different Clyde, but...he's seeing a different person too. Face it, Craig, talking about problems isn't a you thing to do and you know it."

He was right, I did know it. I'd never been that way. Okay, so maybe Clyde was just weirded out by my sudden one eighty in personality. It still seemed like it had been something else. But then, maybe I was reading too much into shit because I had so much going on in my own head. Either way, I was determined to repair the fractures, breaks, bloody gaping stab wounds, and whatever else in my friendship with Clyde. The only problem was, I didn't know how. So, in yet another extra-rare moment of complete and utter un-_me_-ness, I said, "So what do I do?"

Token sighed, not answering me for at least a minute. Finally, he said, "I don't know."

"Great." I closed my eyes again. My whole life – minus Tweek – was fucking stupid.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." It was my turn to sigh.

"You know..." Token said slowly. "Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Yeah," was my only response.

"Do you work?"

I shook my head. "No. Tomorrow is my one day off. Tweek and I are going to hang out and watch some Red Racer, and eat chicken noodle soup or something since he's still sick."

"My house has chicken noodle soup. And Neo-Citron. And like four spare bedrooms."

I opened one eye and watched Token carefully, wondering if he was going where I thought he was going with this.

"And we didn't get to all hang out like we should've been able to, and I know that Tweek is sick and Clyde's upset and things are awkward with you guys – because of that," Token continued, and I saw him bite his lip. "I was just thinking, Saturdays were always movie nights, so if you want to—"

"Yeah," I interrupted, sitting up again. "Fuck, yeah, how long has it been?"

"Something like a year," he replied, with a half-smile.

"Yeah, that's fucking not going to happen again." My tone left absolutely no room for debate or dissent. "For fuck's sake, we used to do that every week."

"Tweek won't mind?" I could hear the hope in Token's voice and I knew that he wanted things to be the way they used to be just as much as I did.

"As long as you have coffee I really don't think he'll complain," I said. "You know that's all he needs. But... What about Clyde? You think he'll go for it?"

Token glanced down at the floor for a split second, but then he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, no, I don't think he'll say no. I mean, like you said, it's been forever. I'll stop by his place on my way home to tell him."

"Great," I said, sincerely this time. Suddenly energized, I stood up and nodded in the direction of my espresso bar. "You want a drink before you go? I'll make one for Clyde too and you can bring it over."

"Sure." Token stood up too. "Do you remember what he and I drink?"

"Salted caramel diabetes – I mean hot chocolate, right?" I headed behind the counter and grabbed two cups.

"You haven't even tried it yet have you?" Token leaned on the counter and watched as I poured milk into pitchers and started steaming it.

I rolled my eyes as I brought the cups over to the syrups, tilting the cup so Token could see the contents after I finished putting the three different syrups in. "Yeah, no, I really don't need a quarter of a cup of syrup in my diabetes, I'm good."

"Not even a quarter of a cup." Token shook his head.

"Close enough," I said, putting syrup in the other cup and moving back over to where my milk had finished steaming. I finished the drinks and handed them to Token. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yup, you can come over whenever, and bring stuff to watch if you want. You know how it goes." Token took a sip of his drink before putting both of them into a drink tray, and turned to leave.

"Yeah, I remember. Later." He was almost to the door when I added, "Thanks. For. You know."

"I know," he said without looking back at me. "And you're welcome." Balancing the drink tray in one hand, he pushed the door open with the other, waved at me over his shoulder, and left.

I really hoped Tweek was actually going to be okay with this. And Clyde. Fuck, I _really_ hoped Clyde was going to be okay with hanging out like this. I still felt like there was something really wrong with him that I hadn't picked up on. But I wanted to know. I wanted to help him.

_"I just know that you, Tweek, Clyde, and Token have always been a more tightly-knit group of friends, and I had to save that. I had to keep you guys together, whatever it took."_

I wanted Kenny to be right about us. And this was the best way to start.


	4. All Mixed Up: Tweek

**A/N: Oh, holy god. I am so sorry. I have no excuse for this taking so long, except for I suck. And holy god I am so sorry. Ten bucks I've lost a lost of you, but to the ones I didn't lose, and to anyone new, I do swear that I will never abandon this, even if it takes me years. I haven't given up on this fandom, I love it, I will write for it forever, I wish you understood how sorry I am.  
But. This is Tweek's chapter, because I finally decided he gets chapters too. I do need to tell you that if Tweek seems really OOC, he's supposed to, this is what he has evolved into post-WA. And if this chapter seems repetitive, again, it's meant to, it's Tweek talking and everything in his head is repetitive.  
Thank you sosososo much for reviewing the last chapter - AnimBio, Tweek Tweekers, fetteranton, Taylor, and Miaou Jones. I love you all. I hope this chapter isn't so bad that you stop reading, if you haven't already.**

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Craig had told me to go to sleep, and I'd tried, I really had, but I was too scared, I didn't want to dream because I knew that I would end up with nightmares. I hadn't gotten a full night's sleep since we'd gotten home, and some of that was because I was so sick, but a big part of it was because I knew that I wouldn't be able to _not _think about everything that had happened while I was asleep and I never wanted to think about it again. I just wanted to forget it all had ever happened, but I _couldn't_ forget, how could I forget when Kenny was _dead, _when the reason he was dead was because of _me? _Me and my stupid..._stupid_ weakness, if I hadn't done that then he wouldn't have had to die... Maybe we would all still be here again, maybe that would have worked out; the way Kenny had been talking, that last time I – we all – saw him, it was like he'd already found a way to make things be the way they were, but by then it was too late, by then I'd had to go and mess it all up and be the reason why one of us, the only one who had honestly been friends with every one of the rest of us, was gone...

I whimpered, closing my eyes tightly and shaking my head back and forth, trying to shake thoughts out of my head, but they were stuck there, they wouldn't go _away_. Images of Kenny's face, and _Kyle_'s face – oh, God, Kyle had looked broken in _half_..._ – _when Kenny had been trying to explain everything but mostly just falling apart instead, played in my mind and I wrenched my eyes open but that didn't work, they were still there, and I couldn't make myself think of anything else. I vaguely heard the sound of my front door opening and closing from downstairs, but it hardly even registered in my brain. I curled myself into a ball in the corner of my bed, trying to scrunch up as small as I could. _I shouldn't exist,_ was all that was going through my head. _I shouldn't be here._

Everyone's life was messed up because of me. _Everyone's. _I cringed, remembering how everyone had looked at Kenny's memorial service, not just Craig and Token and Clyde, but everyone else too. Butters...and even Christophe, just him showing up meant something, even I knew that.

And Kyle and Stan and Cartman... God, they'd been the people Kenny was with the most, I didn't understand how any one of them was able to stand or talk or anything at _all_, especially, oh God, _especially_ Stan. I'd never thought that he was as close to Kenny as Kyle had been, or even Cartman – the two of _them_ had kind of ended up being best friends the way that Token and Clyde had ended up being best friends, when Craig started hanging out with me all the time. Kind of, best friends by default when the other people you hang out with are together all the time. But Stan and Kenny had hardly ever hung out just the two of them, at least not very often that I knew of, but I guess it had to have happened more than just once because Stan had looked – _he'd_ looked broken in half, he'd looked how Kyle had looked in the hospital...

And it was because of _me_ that he'd looked like that. I'd taken one of his closest friends away from him. I didn't understand how they didn't hate me, how _any_ of them could ever look at me and not see someone horrible who wrecked their lives. Craig kept telling me it wasn't my fault, it wasn't anybody's fault, but how could I believe him when Kenny's words to the contrary kept echoing in my head?

_"There are – certain circumstances that don't let...things like resurrection happen. One – of those circumstances – is suicide."_

That, those two sentences, was all I needed to hear to be sure that the whole thing was my fault. Even Kenny's letter to me had told me it wasn't, but there was no reason for me to believe him, when it was his words that were telling me the exact opposite, and when, God, he was the one who was _dead_. If I'd known anything, if I'd been _any_ kind of intelligent, I would've known that Kenny wouldn't let us die, I would've remembered that to him, God and Satan were practically family; of _course_ he'd be able to get their help.

But maybe that was it, Jesus, maybe that was _exactly _the issue. I hadn't known Kenny at all. Oh, God... That thought had made me feel so much _worse_, and now I was crying again and my nose was running and my head hurt and I felt so dizzy even with my eyes shut, I just wanted Craig to come upstairs, but... But he couldn't make this better, he couldn't fix anything this time, he couldn't change the fact that someone who had been a part of my life for so long had willingly sacrificed his life just for me when I hadn't even _tried_ to be real friends with him, _ever_. I knew – I knew _everyone_ else more than I knew Kenny, he was always just, just _Kenny_, just _there_, all the time, when we were all together, even if Christophe or Token or anyone else couldn't come, Kenny was there, and I had had every opportunity to talk to him but I never had. I just – I hadn't _cared_. He'd killed himself for me and I didn't even know his middle _name_.

"Tweeker?"

I hadn't even heard my bedroom door open, but there Craig was; my eyes were shut but I could hear him say my name. He sounded so worried, God, he always sounded so worried whenever he talked to me, I still didn't understand why he cared. I didn't deserve it. I shook my head, still not able to say anything, just wishing for my brain, my stupid, stupid overactive _freak_ of a brain, to for once shut up and leave me _alone_.

"Hey... Hey, Tweeker, you okay?"

I felt the weight of Craig crawling onto my bed, and in another second I felt both of his arms around me. I froze for a few seconds, desperately wanting, _needing_, for him to just hold me, but at the same time feeling like I had no right to ask for his help or comfort in any way – Kenny had been his friend too. In another second my decision was made for me; I sniffled, inhaling air the wrong way, and when I started coughing, Craig's grip tightened around me and he whispered, "I'm here, Tweeker."

I shivered a little, more out of being upset than of being cold. When my coughing stopped, it was like every bit of energy I'd had in me had gone with it; I couldn't help but just let myself sink against Craig's chest. The strings of his blue hat I knew he would be wearing brushed against my neck. My throat hurt, my eyes hurt, my head hurt, I was so tired, and miserable, I just didn't have the strength to do anything else anymore. Not even talk. I just needed him to be here right now, whether I deserved him or not. And somehow, _somehow_, he still had the patience to be with me, and I wasn't going to let that go. I needed him. I couldn't be without him. Not now.

I'd been a mess since we'd gotten home. More of a mess than I usually was, and I knew that, but I couldn't help being that way. Too much had happened for me _not_ to be. It was a different kind of mess, though. I didn't drink coffee anymore. I couldn't – just the thought of caffeine in any form made me feel sick. Nobody knew that, though – not even Craig. It was another thing in the list of things I hadn't told him. Things I wasn't sure I could tell him.

I didn't shake very much now, not anymore, not like I'd used to. Not since...everything. My twitching was so rare lately it was almost like I was a normal person – almost. I would never be a normal person.

I only stuttered if I was thinking too much while I was trying to talk, but I didn't talk very much lately. It was only my brain that didn't stop going these days, but even that was different. I had too _many_ thoughts, that was the same, but the way I thought them was different. They came slower now. It was like my mind took more time to process anything I thought about. Like...everything about me was happening ten times slower than usual.

I knew Craig just figured it was all because I was sick, but it wasn't. I knew it wasn't, I could tell. Something in me had changed, I wasn't the same person I'd been a month and a half ago, I wasn't the same person who he – for some reason – had wanted to be with in the first place. And I was so afraid that sooner or later, he'd see that, and then he would be gone. That he would decide that the person I had evolved into wasn't who he wanted anymore...

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, sniffling as I felt Craig's chest rise and fall with his breathing. "I just... I feel awful."

"Awful like you're sick, or awful like you feel guilty?" Craig's voice was soft.

I hesitated before answering him. If I told him I just felt sick, then I wouldn't have to try to explain everything going on inside my head. God, if I even could explain it all, I was probably just insane. It was more than just guilt – but oh, God, a big part of it was, guilt for being weak, guilt for leaving Token and Kyle behind, guilt for Kenny having to sacrifice himself for _me_. Guilt was what kept me up at night, it was the reason I was terrified to close my eyes, because every time I did everything started happening all over again, I saw everything and I heard everyone, I could hear Kenny saying goodbye and Kyle crying and it all felt too real, and it was all just too _much_...

Guilt was why I hadn't been sleeping, but it wasn't the whole reason for how I felt. It wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the _knowledge_, having to _know_ that the guilt I felt wasn't unfounded. Knowing that I could have done things differently and changed everything about our lives now. Knowing that Kenny was dead because of me. It was why I'd been avoiding everyone, it was why I could barely look Craig in the eyes anymore. The knowing felt worse than anything in my life ever had. Or, I was sure, ever would. I would rather be sick for the rest of my life than feel the way I felt inside now.

"Just sick," I said, closing my eyes, hating myself for lying to Craig but knowing I couldn't tell him the truth. "I feel sick."

"Do you need anything?"

I shook my head. What I needed was something Craig couldn't give me. "No, I –" I sniffled, interrupting myself. "I just w – want to try and sleep."

God, I hoped I'd be able to sleep at least a little bit tonight. I was exhausted, but I knew I would never be able to get a whole night's worth. But even half an hour, even twenty minutes would be nice. Twenty minutes without feeling anything... Sometimes... God, it was a horrible thought and nothing I could ever say out loud, especially not to Craig, I already knew what his reaction would be if I did, but sometimes I thought that maybe things would be better if I was just – just still in a coma. At least then I wouldn't be able to feel anything. Not feeling anything at all would be better than feeling everything at once.

But every time the thought of actually doing something to put myself back in a coma crossed my mind, I would think of Kenny, and feel even more guilty for thinking things like that, when he'd given up everything for me to be able to be alive and walking and talking again. I didn't want to make it seem like I was just ignoring what he'd done for me, or that I wasn't grateful.

I opened my eyes and, without moving my head, looked around at the half of my room that I could see – my ragged, bright orange carpet; almost blindingly white walls that Craig told me at least once a week I should paint an actual color, but I was always too worried about paint fumes giving me lung cancer; and my bed, my king-size bed that barely fit in my room. The only reason I was able to be in this room right now, in my house, with Craig right next to me, was because of Kenny. I was more than grateful. The guilt plagued me like nothing else in my life ever had, but I was grateful to Kenny for everything. I hated that I would never get the chance to thank him.

"Tweeker? What's wrong?"

I tilted my head back a little so I could look up at Craig, who was looking down at me. There was concern in his eyes, I could see that, but there was something else, too, something I couldn't name.

I looked away from him; I couldn't keep staring into that unidentifiable emotion. I'd always known that nine times out of ten, the things I worried about were ridiculous. That didn't mean I would stop worrying – there was always that other tenth of a chance, and nobody else would give that tenth of a chance a single thought except for me, and _someone_ had to always be on their guard – it just meant that I was aware of the fact that it was _likely_ unwarranted.

That look...whatever it was, I didn't like it. I didn't like not being able to tell what Craig was thinking. It made certain possibilities seem that much more possible, and that scared me. He could be thinking anything. I could be right, and he could be thinking about that one-tenth of a chance, about _exactly_ what I was worried he would be thinking about. About leaving me all alone.

"Everything's different." I hadn't meant to say that out loud, but it was true. It also worked as an answer to Craig's question. It answered it without really telling him anything, which wasn't lying to him, not exactly, it just wasn't telling him everything. That itself was a perfect example of how things were different. I'd finally gotten used to being able to trust him, to being able to tell him everything, to believe everything he said to me, and now... Now I was keeping secrets from him and lying to him and he was different somehow and Kenny was dead and not coming back and coffee made me sick and nothing made anything better and I didn't know what to _do_ anymore.

I heard myself whimper, unconsciously making the noise, and shook my head again, repeating myself in a whisper this time. "_Everything_'s different..."

"I know," Craig said after a second. "But..." He hesitated, and I pulled away from him, scooting backwards on my bed as his arms slipped from around my shoulders. There was something different in his voice now too, and just like whatever look had been in his eyes, it was terrifying me. Leaning back against my wall, I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. My eyes started to water, and I blinked hard, not wanting to cry again, but it was so hard not to.

He hadn't looked up when I'd moved away from him. He was just sitting there, his arms still resting in front of him where they'd fallen, staring down at my floor. When I looked at him now, Craig Tucker, _my_ Craig Tucker, I couldn't tell what he was feeling or thinking; there wasn't even a hint of anything normal about him right now.

And while somewhere in the back of my head I _knew_ that I couldn't expect any of us to be exactly the same – God, look at me, I was a perfect example – there was a part of me that just wanted him to be_ him_ because I needed him.

And that was selfish. I was being just as selfish now as I'd been that day...

"Token, uh, I saw Token today." I jumped a little when Craig spoke again, startling me. His eyes were still on my floor. "He came in to – just to say hi. Or whatever." He coughed.

My stomach twisted. I hadn't seen Token since Kenny's funeral. I hadn't seen anyone except for Craig since Kenny's funeral, I hadn't gone any farther than my living room since then, and nobody but Craig had been to my house. I didn't think I'd be able to see anyone and feel okay. Just thinking about what I'd done to all of them...and how they must feel about me... Craig had seen Token today and now he was acting so different, had Token told him something, convinced him that the whole thing was my fault? _Oh, God..._

I picked up my pillow from where it was lying beside me and hugged it close to my chest as my eyes filled with tears again and the beginnings of a headache started to pulse in my skull. Craig was going to leave me, this was it, he'd finally realized that I had wrecked his life, that it was all because of me. I couldn't even be angry at Token, if he'd said anything, because it was my fault, it was true. God, my head hurt so much, I couldn't stop thinking again, thinking in circles, the same things repeating themselves over and over...

_It's my fault...he's leaving...I don't want him to leave...I don't deserve him...but I need him...but it's my fault..._

I sniffled loudly, almost missing Craig's next words; his voice was strangely quiet, just another thing that was so very not like him. Just another reason for me to worry.

"He invited us over tomorrow."

"What?" The word burst out of me, louder than I'd meant to speak. I was clutching my pillow so tightly I knew if I looked down I would see that my knuckles were white, but I wasn't looking down, I was looking at Craig, who had lifted his head at my question. He reached up and tugged on the strings of his hat, something he always did when he was nervous, which wasn't often. I was pretty sure that I was the only person who knew that was a nervous habit of his.

"He invited us over. For uh, movies. You know. Like we used to do. " Craig shifted so he was sitting cross-legged, facing me. "Clyde and me and you and Token." He leaned a little bit forward, and continued, "It'll be just like old times, Tweek, just like – just like before, just the four of us and movies and popcorn, Token said you can sleep there if you still feel sick, and we can just all hang out and everything will be the way it used to be."

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. Things would never be the way they used to be. _Never. _Didn't Craig understand that? Kenny would never come back, the reason he was dead would never change. God, I could never be able to be around Clyde and Token and pretend that everything was okay, how could I do that? I sniffled again, pressing my pillow against my forehead, willing the cool fabric to fix my headache. How did Craig think I could possibly do that?

"Tweek?"

I lowered the pillow slightly when Craig said my name. He was looking at me expectantly. I'd heard the word he hadn't said, I'd heard the '_please'_ in his tone. This was important to him.

I really didn't want to. I wasn't ready. But if I did, maybe that would mean something to Craig and it would keep him around a little bit longer. _I don't deserve him but I need him._

"Okay."


End file.
